


When Greg Learned of John Watson

by AKA_Green



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU Different Meeting, M/M, yellow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:38:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKA_Green/pseuds/AKA_Green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not that it's anyone's business, but Sherlock Holmes does have a life outside of NSY's view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Greg Learned of John Watson

“Are you all so incompetent that you can’t even tell where a victim was less than two hours ago? Are you just that bad at your own job?” Sherlock snarled at Greg Lestrade.

“Sherlock! What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve been meaner than ever and you still wonder why everyone thinks you have no friends!”

Sherlock looked shocked at these words; obviously he hadn’t noticed his behavior recently, for the last 6 months he’d been getting ruder and irritable. Sherlock composed himself only enough to dig in his pocket for his phone once it beeped. Lestrade watched as a smile bloomed across Sherlock usually emotionless or aggravated face. Sherlock pocketed his phone and turned to Greg.

“I’m sorry.” No sooner than the words out of his mouth did everything freeze. Those words have never been spoken aloud by this man and everyone was shocked.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “My behavior has been unacceptable lately. I’ve been coping something personal, and I’m sorry I’ve been taking it out on you, Donovan, Anderson and everyone else. I’m going back to Baker Street, the step-brother did it,” he rattled off deductions, but no one was listening. He left with a twirl of his coat.

“So… Freak has some personal things going on doesn’t he?” Sally commented.

“Yeah, I’ll check on him after we’ve cleaned this up.” He replied.

* * *

Half an hour later, when Greg was finally done with the case, he entered 221B Baker Street and was greeted by music. Violin music, Greg identified. The music sounded sad, almost longing, and he had never heard it before. Sherlock must have composed it, Greg decided. The music suddenly went full fiddle, as if something happy had occurred, then gentle, but sill with a giddy feel, next, what Greg could only identify as sounding like a little bit of wedding music before lapsing back into sadness, then anger played out on all four strings then came to an abrupt stop. He walked up the stairs and entered Sherlock’s flat. Sherlock stood, looking out his windows with both hands behind his back; one held his violin and the other held his bow.

“Lestrade, how did the case go?”

“Just fine, you were right, by the way. As usual.”

A faint smile played across Sherlock’s face.

“Of course I was.” He said teasingly.

“So… What was that all about earlier?”

“Just personal matters. Nothing to be concerned about. It won’t happen again.”

 

“Alright, if you say so. But if it does…”

“I’ll personally escort myself off the crime scene. Don’t fret, Lestrade, it’s fine.”

“Alright. I’ll see you later. Enjoy your week.”

“Gooday, Inspector.”

* * *

It was two months later during a case that Sherlock got a call. They were inspecting a rather grizzly case in which the victims head was smashed in. Sherlock’s phone rang; he fished it out of his pocket and frowned at the number that called before he put it to his ear. This is what Greg saw and heard:

“Hello?”

A pause.

“Yes, this is he.”

After a second Sherlock became paler than ever and brought up a hand to cover his mouth. Greg was surprised to see him wipe a tear away before he turned to face the wall, away from Lestrade.

“Yes. Please hand the phone over.”

A pause.

“Oh my God, are you alright?” Sherlock said, concern dripping from his voice

A pause.

“You call that fine?! You could have died!”

Another pause, longer this time.

“Oh, you’re so sentimental. “ He said, though it was obvious that he said it jokingly. ”I’ll see you soon, because I’m asking Mycroft to fly me there right now. I love you too. Bye.” Those last words surprised Greg, Sherlock loved someone?

“Who was that?” Lestrade asked after Sherlock hung up, still wiping tears from his eyes.

“The most amazing fool I’ll ever know. I’ll be away for about two weeks, sorry about the case, Lestrade.” Sherlock replied texting someone, Mycroft, most likely. He swiftly left the scene and got into a sleek black car parked nearby. Sally walked up to Lestrade.

“What’s with the Freak?”

“Personal matters, from what I gathered.”

* * *

Lestrade walked into 221B Baker Street two and a half weeks later.

“Sherlock?” He knocked on the door, “I’ve got a case I think you’d like!” But no one answered.

“Sherlock? You there?”

Finally a muffled, _one moment,_ came from within. Sherlock answered the door, looking decidedly more ruffled, his hair was a mess and he was wearing nothing but a sheet.

“Sorry about that Lestrade, I’d love a case, but I’m decidedly much too busy to help at the moment.”

A winey, needy, moan came from down the hall “Sherlock, come back to bed!” Greg couldn’t tell the gender of the voice.

Lestrade blinked, and gawked. Realization hit just a bit too hard.

“I’ll, um, leave that to you then.” Lestrade stammered.

Sherlock grinned sheepishly. “Thanks, I’ll see you later.” He said then shut the door.

Lestrade numbly walked down the stairs and got into the police car.

“Where’s the Freak?” Sally asked.

“Shagging someone, from what I gathered.” He said.

She gasped, and then laughed.

“Are you fooling with me?”

“No, Sally.”

She blinked, surprised.

“Maybe we’ll meet them later.”

* * *

The next day Sherlock turned up at a crime scene with a short, blonde, man in tow. Sally was rudely asking ‘who the hell is this?’ when Lestrade walked over.

”Sally! Don’t be rude! But really, Sherlock. Care to tell us who this is?” Lestrade questioned.

“I’m sorry Inspector.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.” This is my husband, John Hamish Watson-Holmes.”

_Fin_


End file.
